


collect your soul, get it right

by lilithenaltum



Series: The Valki Fics [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Brunnhilde | Valkyrie (Marvel), Brunnhilde doesn't think Loki gives a shit, Everybody survives Infinity War, F/M, Jealousy, Loki has low self esteem, Multi, Party at the Stark Tower, Prince Loki (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 09:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12981348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithenaltum/pseuds/lilithenaltum
Summary: Maybe if he digs deep enough he can root her out his flesh and go back to the way he was before Sakaar, before he caught a glimpse of plush lips and gorgeous, smooth skin. She’s everything he doesn’t even remotely deserve and everything he wants.





	collect your soul, get it right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [You_Know_Me_83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/You_Know_Me_83/gifts), [gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/gifts).



_“Why is it so hard to accept the party is over?”_ Slow music plays over the speaker as Loki nurses his near empty brandy and mopes.

 

He’s not sure why he lets her get under his skin like she does. She’s burrowed there, deep, like a tick, and it aches and itches. He wants to claw at the pale white epidermis underneath his smart black henley. Maybe if he digs deep enough he can root her out his flesh and go back to the way he was before Sakaar, before he caught a glimpse of plush lips and gorgeous, smooth skin. She’s everything he doesn’t even remotely deserve and everything he wants; he would laugh at how sad it is that he always gets into these situations if it wasn’t pathetic and painful by this point.

 

They’re at a party Thor throws for his Avenger friends at Tony Stark’s headquarters; Thanos is no longer a threat and New Asgardia is coming along nicely in Norway so there’s quite a bit to celebrate. Sif’s arrival on Midgard is icing on his older brother’s cake and Loki can’t even be upset about it-she had beaten Loki bloody after realizing the only reason she’d survived Ragnorok was because of his deception, and yes, he’d deserved that, but could she stop punching him now?-because Thor deserved some bit of happiness after all the bullshit he had to put up with the last few years.

 

A lot of that was Loki’s fault, though Thor was too kind to actually say that aloud.

 

And so he goes along with whatever the older Odinson needs. He is diplomatic and polite to Thor’s friends. He is smooth and suave whilst sucking up to politicians and monarchs, helping to secure a small but decent amount of land to establish their new city state. It is a far cry from ruling over an entire planet as King but Thor is happy that his people have somewhere safe and welcoming to call home. The Norwegians have been most hospitable and Loki uses their awe of the Aenir to his advantage.

 

Honestly, all he wants to do is disappear into space again and pretend he isn’t Prince of New Asgardia, that he doesn’t have the weight of being Thor’s heir apparent hanging over him for the time being. He’d skip Midgard and maybe head back to somewhere in an outer realm. He’s heard of a place a few galaxies over called Nar Shadda that would be reckless and ruthless. He knows some folks in Sakaar who had ships that could get him there in a few years time as opposed to decades, but either way Loki has nothing but time. He wonders if he can sweet talk the Wakandian King into borrowing some of his cryo-sleep technology for the trip. 

 

He’s thinking about this, a silly pipe dream to haul ass and run, when he catches her eye for the tenth time in an hour. She’s weaving through the crowd like a queen, a bottle of Stark’s scotch in one hand and a pretty dark haired girl on her arm. Loki tries to not stare but it’s a losing fight. She’s captivating and charismatic when she’s not drunk and brooding. Every man and woman and creature in Stark Tower follows her and moves around her and flocks to her like moths to a flame. Loki likes to think she’s a bit more deadly. An inferno, perhaps.

 

The girl on her arm is a cute little thing with soft curves and full lips and bright brown eyes, who sways to the hip hop songs playing and smacks fruit flavored gum in that flirty, girlish way. Another flavor of the week perhaps, but she’s perfect with her tight jeans and crop top and expensive sneakers, bright pink fingernails curled around a toned brown shoulder. Everything she hears makes her laugh; every time she does she bats her lashes and leans forward a bit, breasts bouncing underneath the tiny shirt so that people can’t help but stare, and all Loki wants to do is smear that burgundy lipstick over her mouth, make her cry so she spoils her perfect cat eyeliner. He hates it.

 

He’s been a jealous person his entire life, but it’s never been this bad. He’s never been jealous of a lover, or even an ex lover, as all people to him were either then or now and there’s no use crying when you can get between the thighs of another just as easily, when you can get underneath or on top of the next lunk. 

 

Sex is just sex. Except when it isn’t.

 

Someone has turned on the television and they’re watching some show about drug cartels and federal agents. He isn’t interested, really, but it gives him a reason to look away and it helps to stop his guts from churning. He wonders idly if anyone even notices he’s not talking and drinking and being his usual chummy self. Nobody has to actually like him; but everyone at least knows what he did for Midgard while fighting Thanos. Everyone at least tolerates him now, though he knows a few tolerate him a little better than others. That doesn’t mean any of them are going to come over and ask if he’s okay. No one cares if he is okay except Thor, and Thor’s too busy drinking beers with Quill and Strange to really notice his younger brother pouting in the corner.

 

He watches the TV for a few minutes until he can’t pretend she isn’t still by the pool table, pushed up against little Ms. Perfect. He thinks he’ll lose his mind if she smacks the girl’s round bottom again and press a sloppy kiss to her pretty mouth. So he gets up, after draining the brandy and setting down the glass, and wanders outside to the balcony, the hot August air stifling and still around him. He reaches up and slicks his hair back into a bun to get it off his neck, then leans forward at the railing and watches the night sky.

 

Loki doesn’t hear her behind him until it’s too late so he can’t fix his face into an impassive mask when she taps him on the shoulder. 

 

“Shit, Lackey,” she drawls, and he shivers because she says the same thing when he’s deep inside her, pressing her into the plush mattress of his bed, when she wants to be held down and fucked thoroughly. The cadence isn’t the same but it doesn’t stop him from imagining, and now he’s a sorry mix of aroused and depressed. “You look like someone died.” He says nothing to that, just shrugs and turns back around, determined to get his wild emotions under control before she can exploit how he feels. It’s no use, though.

 

“Are you gonna sit out here and mope all night or what?”

 

“Why do you care?” 

 

She snorts at that and stands beside him, mimicking his stance, and stares him down till he turns to face her. The mask is in place, he’s sure, but he can’t help what she sees in his eyes, if she sees anything at all. She’s not dense by any meaning of the word; in fact, she’s almost too sharp for him, to the point she routinely picks him apart and dissects him without even really trying.

 

“I don’t.” She licks her lips and raises a brow. “But you’re bringing the mood of this party down and it’s annoying watching you sit by yourself and pout.”

 

“Then stop staring, Hilde,” he mutters, wishing he had a drink in his hand. She unsettles him when she’s this close and they aren’t naked. She knows she does which is why she’s grinning. 

 

“You’re so fucking pretty all dolled up like that, though,” she purrs, and flashes brilliant white teeth as she chortles. She’s not quite drunk; it takes more than aged scotch and some beers to touch her, but she is tipsy and she’s getting a kick out of how uncomfortable he is. It’s cruel. But he probably deserves it so he says nothing, just scoots over a little on the railing so that she isn’t so close. He at least needs to breathe and he can’t when she’s next to him like this, all beautiful and dangerous.

 

For some reason that makes her laugh taper off and she’s quiet for a moment, frowning a bit when he maintains his silence. Loki is almost never silent.

 

“No seriously, Loki...what’s wrong? You’ve been in a shit mood for the last couple of weeks.” She looks like she genuinely wants to know and he wishes he wasn’t so fucked up that he could spill to her. But she’ll laugh if he tells her, or she’ll pity him and pat him on the back like an old unwanted dog, like the worthless shit he is. He wants to scream how lonely he is when she isn’t there, how lonelier he is when she is but occupied with something or someone else. He wants all her attention all the time; he wants her fingers wrapped around _his_ waist and her hand smacking _his_ ass and her sloppy kisses on _his_ mouth but she’s bored of him most days and he isn’t what she wants until he is.

 

He thinks he could be anything she wants him to be if she asks. She won’t. They've been waltzing around  _something_  for weeks and he's tired of the dance.

 

“Nothing,” he insists, and he gives her sly grin, one he doesn’t even have to practice anymore. He’s been doing this his entire life, smiling when he shouldn’t, and so it comes so easy he’s sure she’ll shrug and walk away, back to her date and her new friends and the warmth and camaraderie of belonging. He doesn’t belong. He never will. “I’m simply bored by the cretins you call friends, is all. Besides, the night is beautiful and I’m only here because my dear brother requested.”

 

She hums, and drums her fingers on the railing. “And you suddenly do what Thor wants you to now?”

 

Loki tilts his head. “Of course. I’m nothing if not the perfect Prince. I do  _whatever_  my King asks of me.” 

 

Brunnhilde stares at him for a very long minute, until he’s sure she can read his insides. “You’re full of shit,” she says, her voice low and serious and, oh, fuck yeah, she can read him. It makes his heart race and his blood boil and he’s suddenly angry how she sees through him when she doesn’t even fucking want him.  
  


“Always have been,  _Valkyrie_ ,” he says, a little colder than he wanted, because that’s giving himself away, but he doesn’t get a chance to turn back to the city below and mope because she hits him them, hard, right in the jaw.

 

“ _Fuck you_. Stop lying to me! Stop lying to yourself and to Thor, just...the fuck is your problem?!” He wants her to hit him again, so he can feel some sort of normal and in the back of his mind he realizes how fucked up that is, but he only rubs his jaw and moves to step around her. He doesn’t want to fight her, he wants to disappear, he wants to completely vanish into the air like he never existed. But she’s blocking his exit and she shuts the glass doors to the balcony behind her, looking like a wildfire in front of him, like a snarling ravaging storm though she’s 5′4″ and he towers over her like a tree. “No,” she rasps out, pushing him back towards the balcony once again. “You don’t get to leave until you talk to me.”

 

He stares down at her and boils, his hands clinch at his sides, he wants to smash the concrete beneath their feet. He wants to split the sky in two, and dent the side of the tower. He wants to kiss her, to bed her, to bite her skin until it gives way. Suck hard hickies into her neck and mark her. Move inside her hard and deep and slow so she knows who he is and who she has wrapped around her finger. He wants to hear his name fall from her full lips like an incantation, like a desperate plea.

 

He doesn’t realize there’s tears in his eyes until he blinks and one trails down his cheek. 

 

“Loki,” she whispers and reaches up, almost touches him, but he can’t, she can’t, not with that girl in there, not when she isn’t his. 

 

“Go have fun with your little girlfriend, Hilde,” he rasps out, and he hates how jealous and venomous he sounds. He wipes his face furiously and turns away again. She stands her ground though, and shakes her head. 

 

“Are you serious?!" she chokes out, her eyes wide and unbelieving. "Nikki’s a  _groupie_ , Loki, she wanted to meet...fuck. You really thought I was...shit.” And then she’s laughing but it isn’t humorous. “I only brought her here because she wanted to meet fucking Iron Man.  _Gods_.” 

 

“Oh for fucks sake, you’re all over her!” It tumbles out before he can pull it back and then everything begins tumbling out and he can’t stop talking now that she has him going. He’s tired. He’s mad and tired.

 

“You’ve got her wrapped around you and all up under you and god, she’s pretty and she’s perfect, and I bet she isn’t a fuck up. I bet her mouth tastes good and I bet she’s soft and sweet and laughs at everything you says. You wouldn’t hit her, would you? You wouldn’t treat her like an afterthought, like a plaything.” He spits the last word out with so much force that Hilde leans back in shock but she says nothing. “ _You don’t want me_ , Brunnhilde, you want to _make_ me want you so that it hurts. You like the powertrip, don’t you? Trust me, I know  _all_  about powertrips, I know all about-”

 

He can’t finish his thought because she snatches him by the open v of his shirt and pulls him into a hard, punishing kiss. He is vaguely aware of the liquor on her tongue, of how her lipgloss and the girl’s lipstick mingle on his own lips, how sharp her teeth are when she bites his bottom lip. And yet he can’t stop himself from pulling her into him, close and warm and solid. She wraps her arms about him and his tongue chases hers as she molds her body to fit his, the way she’s done for the last several months. This is what gave him any hope to begin with, the way she sighs when she pulls back, how dilated her pupils are when she finally meets his gaze.

 

He’s ashamed to admit he couldn’t walk away even if she laughed right now, even if she confessed he was just something to do.

 

But she doesn’t. Her face is screwed up and she’s blinking back tears of her own and he wonders if maybe she’s drunker than she’s let on. “You stupid, jealous fucker,” she whispers. “I didn’t...you never said...I thought  _I_  was just a piece of ass and so I...I didn't think you'd care about if I...” She swallows and Loki’s eyes follow the way her throat moves as she does and he presses a kiss there, so that she lets out a shaky moan. 

 

“How could you possibly think you were anything less than the moon in my sky?” he murmurs against her skin, and she snorts then, starts to laugh and this time it feels right, it feels good. He’s still too scared to really hope, until she meets his eyes again and they’re as open as they’ve ever been. “Too cheesy?” he asks, and she nods, a grin on her face, then wraps herself around his frame. He envelopes her and breathes her in, a slight breeze wafting around the building so there is a little relief from the stifling New York heat. 

 

They stand still and silent and breathing for a while. She is the first to move away, and she glances into the building, into the party where no one has noticed that they’ve been gone. Least of all Nikki, who is now chugging a beer and trying to sidle up to Bucky. She doesn’t seem to be having much luck; he’s holding a pool stick with the wariest look on his face and he glances every so ofter towards Steve, who only laughs at his friend’s discomfort, and to T’Challa’s sister Shuri, who is decidedly trying to not glare at the two of them.

 

“That takes care of me worrying how I was gonna let her down tonight,” Hilde says, more so to herself, but Loki lets out a breathless laugh and squeezes her tighter. “You could have just told her you changed your mind.” He brushes his thumbs over her cheekbones and he knows his eyes are way too gentle right now but he wants them to be. “You could have confessed your undying love for me.” And Hilde is laughing now, eyes bright and beautiful and shining. “I could,” she says, “but I don’t want that to go to you head, your Highness.”

 

She pulls back, and walks to the double doors, opening one so that the music from the inside wafts to the outside, bass thumping along to his heartbeat. 

 

“Come make me a drink.” 

 

Loki hesitates just a bit. “You want me to make you a drink? You’re the liquor connoisseur,” he quips, and then she’s grinning that grin that tells him she wants more than a cocktail. 

 

“Make me a drink and then take me to bed. I’m  _hungry_ , too.”

 

Loki can’t help smiling at that, and he takes her hand, shutting the door to the balcony behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr || lilithenaltum.tumblr.com


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